Twice Upon A December
by bethalaina
Summary: It was Christmas Eve, and she was alone.


A/N: Upload and posted on LJ in November 2006

How had this happened?

Hermione curled up in the chair by the fire and stared into the flames, listening to the silence of Grimmauld Place. It was Christmas Eve, and she was alone. Everyone else that lived in the old house had gone to spend the holiday with someone else. Ron and Lavender, along with Harry and Ginny, still enveloped in that newlywed glow, had gone to the Burrow. She had been invited to join them, but after the death of her parents earlier this year, Hermione just didn't want to be in a big, boisterous crowd this Christmas. She had expected Lupin and Tonks to spend Christmas here with her, but they had taken a trip to France instead. She had a feeling they would come back married, too. The end of the war had prompted several weddings.

Occasionally other members of the disbanded Order dropped by to visit. Usually several were hanging around, even those who didn't live here. The war had drawn all of the members close, and sometimes it hurt to be apart. So, they came to visit, often staying overnight, just for the camaraderie. Tonight, however, Hermione didn't expect any company. As far as she knew, everyone had someone to be with. Everyone but her. They had families and partners. She was alone.

The big Christmas tree glowed in the corner, sparkling fairies dancing on the boughs, and shiny glass balls reflecting the firelight. This should be such a cozy scene, the warm living room, with snow glistening on the windowsill. Instead, it felt distant and long-ago, back when she'd had that special love that made Christmas worth celebrating. Back when her parents had been alive, back before her friends fell in love.

A soft knock on the door crept through her reverie, surprising her. She made her way down the hallway in her stocking feet, glad that Mrs. Black's portrait had finally been removed. She opened the door and gazed, wide-eyed, at the man on the other side.

Viktor's hair was frosted with snowflakes, and although he smiled at her, his eyes still held a haunted look. She had forgotten. She had been wrong when she'd said she was the only one alone. Viktor's parents had been Death Eaters, and all of his Durmstrang friends, as well. He had come to find Dumbledore, seeking the warmth he had felt during the Triwizard Tournament. He had wanted to fight on the side of good. He had joined the Order and even stayed at Grimmauld Place for a while, although she hadn't been alone with him since their relationship had ended, when she was fifteen. Viktor was alone now, too, and looking into those dark, haunted eyes, she felt a companionship in her heart she hadn't felt in years.

"Hello, Hermy-own-ninny. Merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas, Viktor. I'm afraid that everyone is gone somewhere else for the holiday, but you're welcome to stay if you'd like." She would be grateful for the company. She might not have wanted to be in a large crowd, but she hadn't wanted to be completely alone, either.

He smiled a soft smile that had always made her stomach twist. "Thank you. I vas at home, vatching the fire, and I felt…so alone. I vanted to be vith somevone."

She smiled back and led the way back to the living room, where she settled on the end of the couch. He took the other end, lazily stretching his long legs out in front of him. Hermione was so glad to have company.

They chatted for a few minutes about nothing much, as she caught him up on the news of the others from the Order. Eventually, they grew quiet again, but it was a comfortable silence, unlike the still, cold quiet that had made her shiver with loneliness earlier. She watched Viktor gaze at the fire, the orange plumes flickering in his midnight eyes.

He turned those eyes toward her, and that haunted look was almost gone, buried in the back of his gaze. She knew from experience that the haunted look would stay. Often enough, even in her happy moments, she had seen a shadow lingering in the depths of her own whiskey-colored gaze.

His voice came as a low murmur. "Do you remember another Christmas ve spent together?"

"Yes," she answered, "The Yule Ball, nine years ago. It feels like forever now, doesn't it?"

"Perhaps," he said softly, "that night feels a vorld avay now, but I remember that feeling as if it just happened yesterday. Even vith all those people around, all of them vatching us, I felt like ve vere the only vones there vhen ve danced, vhen I looked at you."

Her breath caught in her chest as pictures of that night flew back to her: the feel of his strong, young arms spinning her across the dance floor, her heart racing as he kissed her softly, chastely, goodnight. The months that followed, with kisses that were less chaste, gazes that seared her skin…wishes that were never fulfilled.

Her eyes met his and she just stared, not knowing what to say. She could barely imagine that he still cared about her, after so many years. But his words made it sound like he did, and his eyes spoke volumes. He smiled, and she felt as though he could read exactly how she felt, without needing her to mutter a word.

For a long time neither of them spoke, both lost in those memories. Finally, when the silence began to feel overbearing, she asked if he'd like some cider.

When Hermione returned from the kitchen, the living room had changed. Viktor had turned on some soft Christmas music, and that tiny thing made the room feel so much more alive. He sipped the cider she gave him and placed it on the coffee table.

He rose swiftly, clicking his heels together in a way she supposed must be habit, for he had done it all those years ago. He held out his hand to her, and asked seriously, with glowing eyes, "May I haff this dance, Hermy-own-ninny?"

She realized with a start that already, in such a short amount of time, Viktor Krum was stealing her heart all over again. He was the same sweet boy she had loved so long ago, grown into a man, a man with haunted eyes that could understand the hurt inside her own. She slid her hand into his much larger one, and let him lead her into a dance.

For what felt like an eternity, she let herself relax in his arms. She could feel the strong muscles in his back through the soft material of his sweater, and she could feel his heart beating against her cheek as they swayed to "Silver Bells". He smelled so good, something woodsy combined with the smell of broom polish, a scent that she had associated with him since the first time he'd hugged her. She could spend the rest of her life here, against this man; why had she never realized, when she'd been younger, that he was meant for her?

She felt him nuzzle her hair, and his soft whisper drifted to her, mixed with the soft music. "Vhat is it about Christmas magic, Hermy-own-ninny? Vhy is it, every Christmas I spend vith you, I fall in loff again?"

Reluctantly, she drew back to look up at him. "Is it me, Viktor? Or is it just a cure for the loneliness? Do you really want to be with me, or do you just need someone to fill that ache?"

"Sveetheart, it is you. Alvays has been you. I never stopped loffing you, not from so long ago, vhen ve vere young. Haff been vaiting for you to really see me again."

Hermione was not an impulsive person; she never had been. Deep in her heart, she knew that she wouldn't be feeling the fire she felt for him now if somewhere inside, embers hadn't been left burning. Somewhere down, further than she knew how to locate on her own, she had stored him away. This Christmas had drawn him back out to her, rekindled the love she'd been carrying all along.

Her eyes met his, fire burning in his gaze, and his lips lowered to claim hers, softly, gently at first, but gathering strength and heat. She gave herself over to him, sliding her hands under his soft sweater and letting them glide over the muscles in his lower back, soaking in the smooth expanse of skin under her fingers.

Without breaking the kiss, he pulled her over to the plump sofa, guiding her down against him. She lay against him for a long time, sharing deep, drowning kisses with him, as his hands slid over her body, learning new curves that hadn't been there the last time he'd touched her. She couldn't get enough of Viktor's kisses. Somehow, they were different than she remembered; somehow, they were more. He kissed like a man now.

Finally, when they were out of breath, she lay with her head against his chest and watched the dancing flames in the fireplace as he stroked her back. Thank goodness she had been here tonight. Thank goodness he had come; he hadn't given up on her.

As she drifted off to sleep, held against the strength of Viktor's body, Hermione watched the snowflakes dance against the window. She wasn't sure how this had happened…but she had found herself in a Christmas that felt like the holidays from her childhood. The room that had felt only hours ago so lonely and empty was now warm and filled with love. Neither one of them was alone anymore.

Thank goodness for Christmas.


End file.
